


White Rabbit

by weepingnaiad



Category: Bottle Shock (2008), Price of Milk (2000), Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Community: jim_and_bones, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-22
Updated: 2011-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-23 23:07:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/pseuds/weepingnaiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b>  From this prompt: <i> Two characters meet at a wine tasting.</i>  Bo needs to get away from Napa, get his head on straight.  He winds up visiting New Zealand and things take a turn for the un-real when he crosses paths with a mysterious woman on the highway.  Is it possible that the gorgeous dairy farmer he meets is nothing more than a fevered drug trip?</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Rabbit

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** My dearest, darling abigail89 beta’d this thing at the very last minute (how about ‘as I’m writing’ for last minute?) just because she’s incredible and awesome like that.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Liberal mentions of intoxicating substance use?
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** The characters in this story belong to their respective copyright owners and I’m merely allowing them a bit of fun in the spirit of transformative works and mean no infringement of any kind. I do promise to return them with smiles on.
> 
>  **Author’s Notes:** I actually know very little about New Zealand, though I would love to visit, so I am likely mis-using Kiwi speech. The World Buskers Festival is an actual festival held in Christchurch, not Darfield, so I transplanted it for my purposes. Jo (Bottle Shock), Bernie (Price of Milk) and Auntie (Price of Milk) as well as Harry and Celia (Truth About Demons) make guest appearances. Oh, and the title is shamefully stolen from Jefferson Airplane’s song [White Rabbit.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WANNqr-vcx0) Lastly, if you weren’t aware, this was created for the LJ comm, jim_and_bones’s Worlds Collide Crossover Challenge, which is all about encouraging us to broaden our horizons to other roles and pairings for Jim/Bones and Chris/Karl. Check out the [master list](http://jim-and-bones.livejournal.com/482389.html) for some great fics with unusual pairings. It’s open and freely accessible to all and sundry and actually a whole lot of fun!

_Napa Valley, January 1978_

 _Jo glanced up from the bar, took one look at Bo and shook her head before turning away to help two regulars. She was still ignoring him then, but he had a cold beer in his hand before he’d completely settled on the bar stool. He hoped that meant that she’d forgiven him._

 _The bar hummed with activity, the final frenzy before last call, a hurried pool game, desperate kisses in a corner booth, and the regulars doggedly clinging to their stools and the last dregs of their drinks. Not so different than Bo. Jo ignored him, let him nurse his beer, and didn’t hustle him out with the rest of the stragglers._

 _Old habits died hard and Bo was up, stacking chairs and sweeping before he gave it a thought. The half-smile Jo gave him was the first step back to ‘normal’, whatever that was. They stepped into the cool January night, still no word spoken, but the tension had eased enough that Bo was unsurprised when Jo slung an arm around his waist and snatched his keys._

 _He chased her to his old pickup, laughing. “Hey!”_

 _“Just get in. You’re not fit to drive.”_

 _She slung her large purse on the seat between them, a sure sign that this wasn’t exactly like old times, but Bo was grateful she wasn’t still angry._

 _“Where we going?”_

 _“I should be driving up to Fornett’s and pushing you off a cliff. You’ve been such a dick to Gustavo…”_

 _Bo held up his hands. “I already apologized to them.” He gave Jo that smile, the one that she fell for when they first met. “What more do you want?”_

 _She huffed out in frustration and sighed. “Bo…”_

 _Then she shook her head and veered off the road, taking a familiar dirt track over the hills. Bo’s eyes were drawn to the landscape, the tidy rows of huddled vines sliding past, their dark forms clinging to the earth. The awkward silence stretched, lengthening, taut and straining, but neither of them was willing to speak first._

 _This place was familiar, well worn, and comfortable; the path between the trees well trodden. Bo followed Jo, carrying a shabby blanket over his shoulder. He might hate the silence, and, for the first time, he didn’t know what Jo was thinking, had no idea why they were here of all places, and his gut squirmed._

 _The sky was clear with the moon dipping behind them as they settled, sprawling on the blanket, close for warmth, but not touching. He missed that._

 _Weed and a local red, not Gustavo’s. Not that. But his muscles relaxed, and Jo finally smiled at him. Gave him that look and he leaned over her, lips hovering before she stilled him, her palm warm on his chest._

 _“I’m not Sam,” she whispered._

 _“I don’t want you to be,” he answered. “I need you to be you. _My_ Jo.”_

And she was again. It was free and easy, just like always. They had each other and Jo held him, wrapped tightly around him as he came, shuddering. Breaking, but she never said a word as he swiped his face against the blanket and swallowed a sniffle.

They rolled together, huddling under the blanket, Jo pressed tight against him, as Bo stared sightlessly at the sky.

“What’s wrong with me?”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Bo. You’re a party boy, the kind of guy a girl wants to have before she settles down. So there’s no what ifs later.”

He frowned. “What?”

Jo’s chin dug into his shoulder as she tilted her head up and looked at him, giving him that knowing stare. There were times it sucked to have known someone for so long, to have no secrets.

“Bo. Can you honestly say that you were ready to settle down? Have babies?”

He was gritting his teeth so hard, his jaw twitched.

“Exactly. You’ll grow up and when you do…”

Bo tightened his arms and pulled her close, letting his lips rest on Jo’s forehead. “And when I do, you’ll be waiting?” he asked, hopeful.

“Not in a million years,” she answered before kissing him to take away the sting.

Jo rode him hard, held him captive as she ground down, her mouth pressed tightly against his. She came, her moans breathed into his neck, fingernails digging into his shoulders, until she went lax and smiled at him. Tugging him with her, they rolled and he slipped back inside, her undulating hips coaxing his release. He collapsed, breathless, to her warm laughter.

He mouthed her breasts, hips swiveling until she groaned and slapped his ass. “Stop it!” But she didn’t push him away. “You need to get away. Get your head on straight.”

Bo slid to the side and propped his head up on his palm, elbow crooked. “I’m never going to be straight, Jo.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m not running away, either.”

“I’m not suggesting a month of debauchery in Tijuana,” she huffed.

She sat up suddenly, knocking Bo on his back. “I’ve got it! You need to go visit Harry!”

“Harry?”

“You remember my cousin?”

Bo nodded slowly. “Your cousin? I thought his name was John?”

“It is. But Harry’s a friend of his. He moved away to avoid the draft… so he’s in New Zealand now. He’s married and has a farm. They’ve gone old school, natural.”

“New Zealand? Vancouver wasn’t far enough?”

“His aunt met a dude in the war and moved over there, so he moved in with her. He can’t come back, but John said that he wouldn’t even if he could.”

“I don’t think so. Dad will kill me.”

“Tell him you’re checking out their vines.” Jo had an answer for everything.

“New Zealand, huh?”

~~*~~

 _The Chateau Montelena office was suddenly frosty, the chill having nothing to do with the bits of ice clinging to the vines in the early January morning._

 _“I didn’t raise you to run from a fight,” Jim growled._

 _Bo tensed, but didn’t shout. “I’m not running.”_

 _“What the hell do you call it? I always told you that your casual lays would bite you in the ass, boy!”_

 _Bo raised his chin, his mouth set in a firm line. “This isn’t about that! I’m not you, Dad! I need a goddamned break!”_

 _“A break? When the fuck have I had a goddamned break?”_

 _“So take one! You don’t need me for the next month so I’m going.” Bo didn’t give his dad a chance to reply. He stormed out, slamming the office door behind him._

~~*~~

 _Somewhere outside of Christchurch, New Zealand, January 1978_

Bo looks at the signs, can’t make head nor tails of them, so he drives on, hoping that he’ll come to an intersection marked on the map. There’s no way he missed the turnoff, he was driving slowly enough and watching carefully. He eyes the baggie on the seat of the rental and grins. Well, there was that little pit stop, but that was necessary just to help ease him into driving on the fucking wrong side of the road!

He slams the brakes and stops short, thankfully, but the shepherd still glares at him as he crosses with his flock, the dogs doing more to keep the sheep in line than the man. It’s fascinating and Bo would linger, but he promised Harry that he’d help Celia setup their booth at the World Buskers Festival in Darfield and he’s learned to keep his promises. Mostly. Pretty much. Half the time, anyway.

When he starts driving again, he naturally drifts to the right and has to remind himself to hug the left on the curves as he winds his way up the hillside. The South Island is beautiful; green, lush, unspoiled in a way that even Napa isn’t. His mind wanders as he scans the neatly tended crops, marveling at the lack of people. It feels like he’s drifted out of time, into a place that the modern era has forgotten, like he stepped into the pages of a storybook.

The road levels off as the sun hits its zenith and a large row of trees are approaching at the crest of the incline. They indicate a stream or brook, and he licks suddenly dry lips. There’s a thermos of water in the floorboard and, unthinking, he reaches for it.

His fingers snag the loop and lift it just in time for his eyes to return to the road and to an elderly woman crossing the highway. _”Fuck!”_ he swears, drops the thermos, downshifts, brakes and swerves, all at once. The wheels skitter on gravel and he’s fishtailing, heading straight for a tree.

Time slows as the wheels lock, leaving rubber on the road, the rental shudders, convulses, and slams into the tree. He sees the front bumper hit the tree, hears the crunch of metal, the hiss of hot fluid, feels himself propelled forward, nothing stopping him until his head crashes forward, hits the steering wheel and the world goes dark.

He couldn’t have been out long because all the car lights and the radio are still on and there’s that woman looking at him through the driver’s side window, her wizened face unreadable as she stares at him, saying nothing.

“What the fuck?” he hisses and the world shimmers as a sharp pain nearly blinds him.

She gives him this enigmatic look and simply says, “Keep your eyes on the road and the journey will go easier.”

Then she walks away into the trees.

And Bo’s left gaping after her. He jumps out of his car, shouting, “Wait! Please? Goddammit!” He should have remembered his head, the pain knocking him to his knees, making him queasy.

Somehow she’s already vanished into the foliage, her red hat disappearing as though she’d never existed.

Bo shivers, lifts his hand to his forehead and comes back with blood on his fingers. “Shit!”

He’s back in the car, the world spinning violently by. He scrambles for a tissue, drops the visor and looks in the mirror, dabbing at the blood. His stomach lurches and he’s not sure if he’s going to be sick, but he needs help. The car won’t start, the crazy old lady’s gone, but she’s his best chance out here in the middle of nowhere, so he grabs his duffle, slings it over his shoulder and enters the forest, trying to follow her even as he wavers.

~~*~~

Bo’s lost, turned around, couldn’t begin to tell North from East in the dense foliage, but he keeps walking even as the throbbing in his head tightens his shoulders and radiates down his spine. If that isn’t enough his whole body starts to ache.

He hears a voice, murmuring numbers and he breaks through the treeline into a pasture. A pasture filled with cows and, he blinks to be sure he’s not imagining things, the most gorgeous man he’s ever laid eyes on. He gasps and the farmer looks up, sees him.

“You okay, mate?”

And that is all she wrote. Bo’s a goner. That accent coupled with those lips and eyes and biceps and… his eyes trail down, but he realizes he’s staring and jerks his head back up making the world twist and flicker and spin. Suddenly the ground rises to meet him. _‘Good thing the grass is so soft’_ he thinks as the world goes dark.

~~*~~

Bo wakes with a groan, everything aching, the light’s stabbing into his eyes like hot pokers. “Ow, fuck!” he whimpers, eyes slamming shut.

“Hey, hey, settle down now,” a soft voice murmurs near his head. He thinks he remembers the face that matches that voice. But he doesn’t move, certain that the gorgeous farmer is a mushroom-induced hallucination.

“Am I dead?” he whimpers.

There’s a soft chuckle in response and a cool cloth is pressed over his eyes. “Nah, but you’ve got a nasty cut on the head and some pretty spectacular bruises. What’d you do? Go twenty rounds with a bull?”

“Not a bull… a tree,” he moans softly. The rag is soft and cool, soothing. He tenses as it swipes lower and that’s when he notices that he’s in nothing but his underwear. Jerking upright, he tugs the comforter up to his chin, eyes wide as the farmer sits back, startled.

“I-I’m naked!” he accuses.

“How’d you expect me to make sure you were okay otherwise?”

The farmer -- Bo can’t keep thinking of him as ‘the farmer’ -- just cocks his head and meets his eyes. He knows he’s being ungrateful, but he’s having trouble thinking straight and isn’t sure if it was the bang on the head or the farmer himself. Damn. “Umm, sorry. I just… Thank you. I’m Bo.” He holds out the hand not clutching fervently at the comforter.

“Pleased to meet you, Bo. I’m Rob.” Rob shakes his hand and smiles and if Bo was unsure what caused his brain to fritz, he knows now. That smile, sweetly mysterious, eyes sparkling, and those dimples… those would fell even Scrooge. Bo smiles in response, his fair skin flushing and cock taking an interest. Thank goodness for the comforter and knees, which he raises, trying to lean back casually against the short headboard.

They chat comfortably, Bo more than content to listen to Rob even if he sometimes loses the thread of the conversation. He blames that on the head injury, but the truth is that he zones out while Rob’s talking, too focused on that voice and those eyes, that wild shock of dark hair. He wants to sit up, drop the comforter, seize those lips, and pull Rob down on top of himself, but he doesn’t. He fights those desires and manages to make it through the simple dinner Rob serves him in bed.

Bo should be feeling guilty, or uncomfortable, should be leaving but he really couldn’t, even if he had wanted to. Things only get more difficult later when he realizes that Rob fully intends to join him in the bed. It is _his_ bed, after all. Bo stuffs his fist into his mouth and curls up as the mattress shifts behind him and he can feel the heat radiating off Rob.

He lies there, stiff, trying to feign sleep, but his whole body is hypersensitive, skin tingling with each breath Rob takes. Rob settles, finally, and Bo can wriggle until he’s more comfortable. His arm brushes Rob’s and he whimpers in his throat, ends up sleeping curled up on the edge of the bed, in danger of sliding off, but that’s better than the alternative, better than finding himself clinging to Rob, wrapped around him like an unwelcome limpet.

The want doesn’t pass but his exhaustion can’t be denied any longer and he sleeps.

~~*~~

Bo stumbles out into the early morning, head still foggy, but he doesn’t remember sleeping so well in his whole life. Must be something about the pristine air here, because he didn’t think he’d ever be able to fall asleep. Not with Rob all warm and barely a handspan from him.

There is dew on the grass, but he doesn’t even notice, his eyes fixed on the strong figure by the barn. He swallows heavily, breath caught in his lungs when Rob bends over. He’s got those damned coveralls on, but they’re open and tied at the waist and he’s wearing a red wife-beater. The contrast gives his skin the hue of milk instead of the pale olive that Bo had most decidedly not carefully catalogued. A soft murmuring reaches Bo’s ears and he’s drawn forward, lured by that voice.

Rob’s still bent over #78, soothing her with that low, gentle tone. Bo understands why the cows listen; he’s following Rob, too.

“Morning,” he rasps out when Rob looks up at him. His eyes are a dusky green and his smile crinkles his eyes.

“Bo! Morning, mate! I wasn’t sure you’d be up and about yet.” He releases #78’s udder, wiping his hands on his apron as he straightens.

Bo’s eyes follow every movement, from the flexing of his bicep, to the tensing of his abs and thighs. He flushes and looks away, large brown eyes are staring at him as if #78 knows _exactly_ what he’s thinking when Rob turns around, displaying that fine ass.

“Thanks for letting me sleep.”

Rob reaches out and brushes the back of his hand over Bo’s forehead. “Looks like you’ll heal up just fine.”

The touch is too light and gone before Bo can lean into it. Still, he follows Rob’s hand forward, only just stopping himself from pouncing on the farmer.

“Thanks, man. I have no idea what would have happened to me if you hadn’t put me up. I still need to get the rental…”

Rob waves him off. “We’ll borrow Bernie’s tractor and have you on the road in no time.”

They’d walked back into the barn and Rob’s already led #78 into a stall before Bo notices. “What’re you…” he starts to ask, but it becomes obvious as Rob takes a bucket and sits down on a low bench beside the heifer.

“Oh. Umm…” he stammers. “Maybe I should—“

Rob chuckles and looks up at him. “Haven’t you ever milked a cow, Bo?”

“No,” he answers honestly and wonders why he’s almost disappointed that he hasn’t.

“Want to?”

And Rob has thrown him for a loop yet again. “Want t-to what?”

“Milk my girl,” Rob whispers and he’s somehow standing behind Bo, every glorious, taut inch of him so close that Bo swears he can feel Rob’s heartbeat thrumming against his back.

He can only nod because he’s no saint and the good lord himself couldn’t refuse Rob anything.

Large hands press into his shoulders, pushing him down to straddle the bench, the bucket between his stretched legs, #78 shifting nervously before him. “Ummm, how do I?”

And then Rob settles behind him, pressing close because the bench isn’t that big, his legs bracketing Bo’s, breath brushing Bo’s hair and making him gasp. “It’s like wanking,” he murmurs and Bo’s pulse skyrockets. “You do wank over there in America, don’t you, Bo?”

Bo wants to reply, to nod, to answer, but his right hand is caught and tugged forward, Rob’s chest urging him forward, their bodies moving together and Bo finally squeaks, “Y-yes!” He clears his throat just as Rob takes his other hand and positions each around a teat. His cock presses against his jeans and Rob’ll see it if he looks down. He’s hyperventilating and going to pass out if he doesn’t get a hold of himself and how fucking embarrassing would it be to pass out _twice_ in front of Rob?

“Thought so,” Rob chuckles. “Just strip it, Bo. Tug one then the other. Get a rhythm going.”

Rob’s palms are warm and calloused as they press into the back of Bo’s hands, squeezing and directing his movements. #78 settles as the milk squirts into the pail and Bo thinks he’s got this figured out, can do it on his own, but he doesn’t want to, doesn’t want Rob to move away, so he fumbles, ends up squirting them both and they laugh their asses off.

The distraction works, for a bit, long enough for Bo to catch his breath and turn away to adjust his cock. Rob’s been nothing but great to him and the last thing he needs to do is fuck this up with sex, but _goddamn,_ is he ever tempted.

~~*~~

Bo lounges by the fence just watching as Rob sets up the milker on the other cows. He doesn’t ask why #78 isn’t in with the rest, is damned glad that she needed to be milked by hand. His back still tingles where Rob’s chest had been.

“You ready?”

Bo startles, nearly over balances, Rob catching him before he face plants.

“Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Rob’s hand is still wrapped around his bicep, warmth seeping into his skin. “You sure you don’t need a doctor? You seem a bit out of it,” Rob asks, his other hand brushing strands of hair away from Bo’s forehead where a calloused thumb rubs gently.

Bo blinks and shakes his head, licking his lips when he can’t think of a damned thing to say. This is all so unlike him. He’s smoother than this. Cool. “’m fine. Just got to thinking…”

A slow smile lights Rob’s face and Bo can see the jibe coming. “If it’s not too much strain…”

Bo elbows him and laughs as the air whooshes out of Rob’s lungs, but Rob’s still got him by the arm and he growls and pulls Bo close. The moment stretches, their eyes locking as they’re drawn forward, neither man breathing, and just as their lips brush, a loud horn sounds in the yard.

Rob jumps back, his face turning away. It’s Bernie on his tractor and Bo has no idea what he saw or what Rob’s thinking. All he knows at this minute is that he wasn’t imagining Rob’s desire, his want unmistakable. Now all Bo has to do is figure out how to stay a little longer, coax Rob into acting on that mutual attraction.

~~*~~

The rental solves Bo’s problem. It and Bo, consequently, aren’t going anywhere for awhile. The car sits forlornly next to Rob’s truck, its front bashed in. It still won’t start and the only garage for miles is closed until tomorrow, so Bernie tows the rental into town where the mechanics can look it over.

No one in the village has a phone and Bo knows Celia and Harry will be worried, but there’s nothing for it. He can’t exactly hike back to Christchurch, and besides, he’s actually in no hurry to leave.

Rob seems content to offer him dinner and a bed for another night. _That_ thought sends Bo’s mind scampering forward and his heart racing. He’s seduced loads of people, had sex with guys before, so why’s this one making his stomach do flips?

He thanks Bernie and the guy gives him a confused smile, as if everyone would go out of their way to drag some stranger’s car into town with their tractor.

Rob walks with Bernie and they have to be talking about him from the not so subtle glance over his shoulder Rob sends his way. Bernie laughs and Rob blushes furiously at whatever Bernie said. And all Bo can think is how fucking innocent and damnably gorgeous Rob is.

The tractor and car are on the road before Rob turns and the heated gaze he levels at Bo makes him reconsider any thought of Rob as innocent. More like a wolf in sheep’s clothing and Bo’s the lamb. He shivers and steps forward.

~~*~~

The bonfire is blazing nicely sending sparks and embers into the sky, green smoke from the weed twining around them, mingling with that from their cook fire. Bo’s resting on his elbows and staring up at the sky, his head tilted back between his shoulders so he can watch Rob from under lowered lids. He’s mellow, warm, relaxed, or he should be, but he’s too aware of Rob, of every movement the other man makes. He knows where this is going, where all the casual touches are leading, those accidental brushes adding up, little sparks lighting his spine and skin until he’s blazing almost as hot as the bonfire.

Bo’s been here before, poised on that edge where friendship can become so much more, or they can shrug it off, drink a bit more, laugh the tension away. This time, he doesn’t want to laugh it off.

He lifts his head and meets Rob’s eyes. It’s dark, but he can easily read the flaring lust there, matching Bo’s own. Rob’s irresistible like this, pale, bare arms glowing in the firelight, an almost goofy, sweet smile topped off with those eyes of his. They’re hungry, stripping Bo bare, devouring.

It’s the sexiest thing Bo’s ever seen. And he moans. Out loud. Then he blushes and licks his lips as his heart pounds against his ribs, louder than the roar of the flames.

Rob pounces, dropping Bo to the blanket. They bump heads hard enough to see stars, but Bo reaches up, wraps his arms tight. He’s not letting go. It takes a second to get their faces tilted right, but then Rob’s kissing him and Bo’s forgetting everything else but the sweet slide of those full lips against his.

Rob kisses like he does everything, with enthusiasm and a joy that literally lifts Bo off the ground. He’s holding on for the ride, opening himself up, giving everything. Rob’s lips are lethal weapons, his gentle exploration of Bo’s mouth thorough and claiming.

Rob’s hands are busy, half the buttons on Bo’s shirt already undone, just like his fly. Bo only notices because of the cool air hitting his cock and the warm hand that’s suddenly gripping him. He bucks up, his moans louder, but Rob captures them, has Bo completely at his mercy and Bo’s drowning in it.

Bo’s easy, always has been, but he’s usually the aggressor with guys, few as comfortable with their desires as he is. But Rob is a dream come true. He’s genuine and uncaring of what anyone thinks. He’s also a tremendous kisser, soft lips soothing the tingle of little nips across Bo’s skin until Rob finds that one spot just behind his ear. He worries it then clamps down, sucking until Bo’s whimpering, clinging and writhing under him.

It’s all fucking glorious, impossibly perfect but Rob manages to go one better as he slides home, his sweet lips surpassed by the sweet slide of his cock. Bo meets him thrust for thrust, loses himself in the tangle of limbs, the breathy kisses, the husky moans until time itself shatters.

They sleep outside, huddled together under Rob’s quilt and Bo’s honestly never had a finer bed.

~~*~~

Bernie arrives just as the milking’s done. He pulls into the pasture and shuts off his truck, waiting patiently for Bo.

Bo squints at Rob in the bright morning light. He doesn’t understand how it’s even possible, but everything’s even greener, more intense, like someone cranked up the contrast and brightness on an old television set to maximum. He’s not hungover, but he has to shield his eyes until Rob, shaking his head, strips off his own ballcap and pops it onto Bo’s head.

“Thanks,” Bo offers, giving Rob a shy smile. “See ya’ later?” He’s got his duffel slung over his shoulder and is heading to Bernie’s truck when Rob joins him, strides matching. “What?”

“I’m coming with,” Rob answers. His tone is quiet, like he imagines Bo would argue.

“Cool!”

That was the perfect reply judging from Rob’s brilliant smile.

They hop into the bed of Bernie’s truck, sit leaning against the cab, legs touching from hip to toe. It’s a comfortable silence as they jostle over ruts and bumps. The ride smoothes out when they hit pavement and Rob intertwines their hands. Bo’s heart gives a little stutter and he can’t help the smile that he gives Rob.

Once they arrive at the garage, the rental’s already being worked on. Its hood is up and the two guys running the place are conferring, one leaning over the engine, the other on his knees, looking at the undercarriage.

Bernie gives a shout out and the mechanics straighten and greet them. Bo’s a bit in awe of them. They’re friendly enough, but, even though Bo’s not short, they’re huge, intimidating except they aren’t at all.

They give Bo the rundown, mostly his radiator’s shot, and they’ve got it holding fluid so they want him to try to start the car. He tosses his duffel in the front passenger seat as he moves around the car. Rob adds his gray rucksack on top, their eyes meeting as Bo climbs behind the wheel.

The car won’t turn over, the fuel system had taken a jolt, so the mechanics decide to give Bo a push-start. He’s not really sure he wants it to work, but he’s slowly moving forward, creeping downhill and he better steer and get ready to pop the clutch.

The car splutters awake and a flash of red catches Bo’s eye.

He follows the movement, shifts, and passes the same old woman as she steps out from trees at the side of the road.

~~*~~

“Bo! Where have you been? Celia was about to call the authorities.”

Bo blinks and looks up at Harry from behind the wheel of the rental. He has no idea how he got here, but he remembers Rob, couldn’t forget him if his life depended upon it. His eyes flick to the seat, but there’s no grey rucksack, just his duffel.

Harry reaches through the window and presses a hand to Bo’s shoulder. “Bo?” He’s worried, but Bo’s too busy trying to make sense of it all, to figure out what had happened. He flips down the visor and there’s no cut on his forehead, his bare forehead, not covered by Rob’s hat.

“Harry?” he finally meets Harry’s worried gaze.

“Yeah, Bo?”

“How long was I missing?”

“Missing?” Harry asks. “Bo, you’re six hours late and we were worried alright, but I figured you got lost and you’d make it here eventually. I was actually expecting a phone call.”

Bo is nodding, not sure what else he can do while his brain is retracing his steps. He can’t figure out where he and Rob got parted, but he’ll find Rob again. He has to.

~~*~~

“Bo? I-I don’t mean any disrespect, but we’ve driven through every road and lane between Darfield and Leeston and just what, exactly, is it you’re looking for?” Harry asks.

How does he answer that? How to explain that he’s looking for a dairy farmer with changeable eyes and the sweetest smile that seems to have vanished into thin air? Bo hadn’t gone missing for days, though he swears he did, his car is fine, not a scratch on it, but he still searches, unwilling to admit that the greatest guy he’s ever met can only be the product of some damned good weed and mushrooms. Nothing else makes sense.

Bo shoves the sadness down, his brow crinkling, but he shakes it off as best he can and looks up at Harry. “It doesn’t matter. If I haven’t found it by now, it’s not here to be found.”

Harry claps him on the shoulder. “You ready for the fair then? Celia’s got tough competition this year.”

“Oh, in what category?” Bo tries to sound interested, make an effort to be involved in his friends’ lives. They’ve been so good to him.

“Cheese. C’mon. You haven’t tasted cheese until you’ve had Celia’s finest.”

“I’m supposed to be here for the wine,” Bo protests.

“Sure, there’s that, too. And more. The festival will have wine, mead, beer, everything!”

Well, at least he’ll keep his word to his dad. That’s something.

~~*~~

The weather’s good, the festival is fun, and Bo’s settling in, trying to let go and enjoy himself. He’s avoiding any and all intoxicants because he’s still feeling off and out of sorts. Something had happened, he’s sure of it, becoming more certain as he swears he sees Rob in the crowd a time or two. He gives chase, but always turns up short, once even finding himself stopping the guy, only to be confronted with pale eyes and a swift left hook.

So Bo’s weary and sporting a small bruise under his eye when he finally gives up and drops onto the stool at Celia’s booth.

Celia’s smile is gentle as she offers him a toke. He tries to refuse, but relents under her compassionate gaze. They smoke in silence and Bo begins to drift, his mind wandering, recalling details with such clarity that he refuses to believe it was all a hallucination. He huffs out a soft, sad sigh, eyes seeing beyond the canvas walls.

“C’mon, Bo.” Celia’s tugging on his arm, pulling him up and he follows helplessly.

“Where we goin’?”

“You’ll see…”

Celia’s voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper and Bo tries to puzzle out what’s going on, but he’s quickly lost in the maze of tents; people, music, laughter all distracting him. He stares at the jugglers until Celia pulls him away. He almost trips over his feet, starts giggling, but then he’s being pushed into a tent. It’s dark, smoky, full of dense, rich smoke and they’ve stepped into another world, the outside gaiety instantly cut off. Here it’s quiet, a sitar and chimes pinging softly and soothingly.

Someone tugs on his jeans pocket and he looks down. Celia’s sitting on the floor with others in a circle, trying to get him to sit down. It’s then he notices that he’s the only one standing and he drops to his knees, mimicking Celia. The chanting grows louder, drawing him in, and sweeping him away. Unconsciously he joins in, is swaying, eyes barely open, and he’s transported, no longer in a tent at the festival but half-aware, simultaneously here and on another plane.

Rob’s close.

Bo goes with the feeling, chases it, swears he can almost smell the farmer, his earthy scent impossibly nearby. The chanting peaks, he’s riding the swelling wave until it stops and the silence forces him to open his eyes fully. He’s staring into the wizened face of the lady in the red hat from the highway.

“You!” he cries out.

She gives him an enigmatic smile, pats his cheek, and winks. Bo gapes, but she’s moved on, is giving her ‘reading’ or ‘blessing’ to Celia and he doesn’t dare interfere. Each person in the circle seems genuinely touched and awed by whatever knowledge the woman imparts, but Bo got no words of wisdom.

Celia’s clutching her stomach, her smile incandescent and Bo isn’t going to do anything to take that smile from her face. He trails her out of the tent; disappointment making him dawdle and stare backward, hoping for what, he can’t say, but he finally turns around to see Celia slipping into the crowd, her blonde head nearly obscured by the press of bodies.

Bo surges forward. “Celia!” he cries out.

He’s not watching his feet, trips on the back wheel of a pram and goes down, taking the man in front of him to the ground with him.

“Oof!”

“Oh, shit! I’m sorry!” Bo is actually glad for the muscular body that breaks his fall, but now he’s feeling guilty and the crowd parts, leaving him the unwelcome center of attention. His face heats and he scrambles up, offering his hand, eyes fixed firmly to the ground.

“It’s okay, mate,” says the guy as he’s reaching for Bo’s hand. Bo recognizes that voice. He’d know it anywhere.

He’s staring as Rob stands, his heart fluttering and mouth going dry. He tries to say something, but he’s gasping like a beached fish and he still hasn’t let go of Rob’s hand.

“You okay there? Did you crack your skull?”

Rob’s looking at him with the concern of a stranger, not acknowledging that they’ve ever met and that finally shocks Bo back to reality. He releases their hands and stammers out, “I’m… I’m fine. Thanks…. Um, thanks for breaking my fall.”

Rob chuckles and straightens, dusting his jeans off. “No worries, mate. You sure you’re okay?”

Bo blinks, nods, then reaches for Rob’s hand again. “Um, now that you mention it, I am feeling a little woozy…”

Rob meets him halfway, makes sure he doesn’t fall, just as a concerned Celia and Harry rush up. “Bo! What happened?” Celia’s checking him over, doesn’t give Bo a chance to answer.

“He fell, ma’am, but I think he’s going to be okay,” Rob answers.

Bo wants to shake his head and argue, but Celia’s taken his arm and Rob’s stepping away. “Hey, wait! I-I don’t know your name!” Bo calls out as he wrestles out of Celia’s hold.

Rob stops and turns, giving Bo that smile, the one that makes Bo’s toes curl and his heart sing, all completely stupid analogies, but that’s how he’s feeling from finding Rob again.

“It’s Rob,” he answers and runs a hand through his hair. Bo bites his cheek to keep from sighing out loud.

“I’m Bo,” he says and steps forward, holding out his hand.

Rob takes his hand and shakes it, holding on just a bit longer than usual. “You’re an American?” At Bo’s nod, Rob continues, “Long way to come to drop on a guy, isn’t it?”

Bo laughs out loud, agreeing, then asks, “You like wine?”

“Don’t honestly know much about it,” Rob shrugs, but he’s staying close. Bo notices that Celia and Harry, reassured, are walking away arm in arm.

So Bo takes Rob’s arm and tugs him along after them. “Well, c’mon then. I’ll teach you.”

“Yeah?”

Rob’s voice is suddenly husky, he put so much intent in that single word that it takes Bo a few moments to reply. “Yeah.”

“I look forward to it.”

 _And the rest, as they say, is history…_

  
Gorgeous image by shinychimera. Thank you, m’dear. The muses are very pleased! 


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